Mutual Fantasies
by Coletta
Summary: Alucard and Integra confess their sexual fantasies to each other. Part 6--Alucard struggles to reconciliate his twisted fantasies after he discovers Integra is experimenting with someone else.
1. Prelude

This fic contains explicit descriptions of graphic, deviant sex. If you don't like that sort of thing, stop reading. If you're too young to be reading this sort of thing, stop reading. If you're name is Tom Tancredo, stop reading; you're a racist _fuck-twat_ and you shouldn't be in Congress, and you don't deserve to read my delicious, delicious AXI smut. My delicious smut is only for AXI lovers--so you're banned.

PRELUDE

--

Intgera Hellsing's bedroom was a lush and luxurious paradise. When the heavy drapes were drawn shut, the room could be completely black, leaving only your senses of sound, smell and touch to guide you. And what tactile sensations there were: velvet bed spreads and drapes, Egyptian silk sheets--even on the walls hung rich, thick tapestries. The floors were luxuriant oriental rugs .

Tonight, Integra and Alucard were going to play a familiar game.

The rules were well understood and long-agreed to: they would lay side by side on her bed, facing the ceiling. Without looking at each other or touching each other, they would talk. They could say whatever they wanted. There would be no consequences for what was said. And whatever was said would never leave the room--it wouldn't even leave the bed.

"I had a_ really good_ fantasy about you last night," Alucard confessed, eyes glued to the ceiling. "I got off at least three times. And I've been thinking about it on and off all day--its driving me crazy..."

Integra scoffed, her gazed fixated in the darkness on some unseen point. "What fuels your sexual fantasies? You seem to have a new one every week. In the mean time, I've been perfectly satisfied with the same four or five scenarios about you since I was _twelve_."

"Vanilla, tame female fantasies," Alucard dismissed.

"They're not. They're _deviant_. And they get more elaborate and wicked each time I think of them."

Alucard was intrigued. They had admitted their masturbation habits long ago, but the content of their personal fantasies had always remained private, except for the most general, vague details. "What are they like?"

At that, she was a little uncomfortable. "You name it," she answered honestly. "Odds are, I've incorporated it into a fantasy."

Alucard squirmed a little on the bed. "Feel like sharing?"

"What, you want me to _talk dirty_ to you?"

"It doesn't go against the rules. As long as I don't look at you or touch you." He smiled. "Unless you're feeling shy. And you can admit it if you are--with your little female, vanilla fantasy..."

Integra shivered, feeling unusually brave. "Only if you share a fantasy, too. And no cheating--I want something _dirty_. Because the story I'm going to tell you is absolutely_ sordid_."

---

To be continued

--

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is broken up into 4 parts; 1) The prelude, which sets up the scenario 2) Integra's fantasy 3) Alucard's fantasy 4) and the aftermath.


	2. Integra's Fantasy Part I

Integra's Fantasy, Part I:

--

I've been masturbating for as long as I can remember--before I even understood there was a word for what I was doing-- before I knew it was a _sin_.

As a girl, when I went to sleep at night, I would touch myself, stimulating my little body into a maddening hum. Then I would fall asleep, unsatisfied, because I didn't know anything about orgasms. I just knew I was curious about my own body and it felt good to touch, and it didn't hurt me or anyone else. It was my secret.

When I was a little older and my father finally sat me down and started explaining the mechanisms of sex and puberty, I was mortified. He used this _future_ language when he spoke--all the information he gave me was meant for when "you become a woman" or "when you're married" or "when you have a husband." Experiencing any of what he described _before_ marriage was a crime. I sat there, in front of my father, completely crushed inside. I couldn't confess what I had done, so I sat in shameful silence. I was _evil._

When my father died, I was too ashamed to do it for a long time. I bottled up all my feelings and hid them away.

Your ethereal, supernatural presence reinforced my guilt. You walked through walls, you read my thoughts, and you roamed wherever you wanted all night long. I swear to God, you watched me all the time. I was always looking over my shoulder.

There was a day when I was completely crippled in shame. I wanted to change my tampon, and I couldn't, because I was convinced you were somewhere in the room.

Earlier in the day, when we had been together for a moment alone, _completely apropos to nothing we had been discussing_, you sniffed the air and closed your eyes with a pleased expression. "You smell good today," you said. That was enough to set off my paranoia. Now I expected you to show up any moment. I sat, trembling on the toilet, my knickers bunched around my ankles and my knees tightly pressed together. I couldn't reach between my legs and tug the string and pull the unpleasant little cotton suppository out. I couldn't do it. You had frightened me too many times, snuck up behind me too often.

When the phone rang in my bedroom, I almost had a heart attack. I pulled up my skirt in a hurry and ran over to the phone and answered breathlessly. "Hello?"

"Do you need me to come upstairs?" It was _you_.

"No...Why?"

"You're thoughts woke me up. You sound frightened." You sound drowsy.

It hadn't crossed my mind that it was the middle of the day, that you were sound asleep in your coffin four floors below me. "No, I'm ok. You must have been dreaming. You can go back to sleep."

You released a contented sigh. "Mmm. Yes, master." And then I hear the phone click.

I felt much more at ease after this experience. For once, I may have _over_estimated the reach of your powers--at least during the day. Now I found myself free to do all sorts of things during the daylight hours--all _sorts_ of things.

In the past few months, I've become addicted to pornography on the internet--to my _complete_ undoing. I've discovered there's a hidden world of sex, wanton, shameless sub-humans who will do anything, absolutely anything. Every time I find something that initially churns my stomach, I find myself feverishly hunting for it again, then I pleasure myself to it. And while my fingers feverishly delve into my moist folds, I wonder to myself; am I like these sub-human people? Is that why it turns me on? How can I be the leader of the Hellsing Organization and secretly ache for these fetishes? What would my father think? What would Walter think--if he caught me?

I am fascinated by sex toys. They seem so brutal. And I'm starting to like brutal. And if I could only get my hands on some, I could play with them alone and satisfy my own freakish urges. I've been eyeing the same 3 or 4 vibrators for a few hours--simple looking things, but they have ridges and bumps along the shaft for stimulation. But I'm wondering where I could hide them, and how I could get one? If I buy one online, I'll have to use a credit card, and Walter audits my personal spending. And I'm still too young to walk into a sex shop--I wouldn't even know where one _was._

I'm so engrossed in thought, I haven't thought about how much time has passed this afternoon. I haven't noticed the sun sinking into the horizon. And I don't notice you standing right behind me.

"_Really_?" you say.

This is my worst nightmare.

I almost jump out of my skin. I have no idea how long you were standing behind me. I try to exit out of the offensive window, but you take the mouse from me and begin to scroll. "Are you going to buy one?"

"Of-of course not!" I stammer, shaking. "I was just _looking_." It had to be you walking into the room, didn't it?

"Some of these have _spikes_." You continue to leisurely browse. "That one has an extension to stimulate your..."

"Please go away," I beg. "Look, you caught me: I was looking at something dirty on the internet. Ok? I'm really embarrassed and...."

"This isn't dirty. This is _hot_." You pull up a chair next to mine and you started to hunt around while I sit frozen. " I can't believe some of the things that humans have invented in the past 20 years. What's _that_?"

"What? The..." I follow where you were pointing. "It's a...." I don't want to talk about this with _you_. "…it's a penis pump. You...you put your penis into the sleeve and you pump the handle and its supposed to make a sucking sensation."

You look at me. "Shut. _Up_."

"No, I'm serious," I say.

This is either riotously funny or the best news you've heard since you were released from the sub-levels, because the look of _glee_ on your face floors me. "And what's that?" you ask, eagerly pointing at something else on the screen.

"It's a sex doll. It has..._openings _that you can..._insert_ yourself into."

You are roaring with laughter. "What _else _is there?"

Before I know it, we spend an hour browsing through different categories of sex toys--vibrators, cock rings, butt plugs, bondage sets, slings and harnesses, nipple clamps, whips and paddles, and some really strange stuff like silicone vaginas and plastic lips, detachable breasts, strap-on dildos..all the way to hydraulic, gasoline powered _fuck machines_. And as we talk, we're laughing. We're laughing_ hard_. I find myself relaxing. I'm having a good time. I can't believe how relaxed I feel. I'm opening my mouth and things I never dreamed of saying out loud just pour out with ease.

As I explain the supposed pros and cons of flavored lubricants, you're looking at me with a warm glow. Our moods shift back and forth as we find something side-splittingly funny, and then we quiet down whenever we see something that's a genuine turn-on, then we quickly move on to the funny and obscene before the silent tension forces us to acknowledge each other's restrained arousal.

Eventually, we exhaust the site, but we're still talking.

"So, were you ready to buy something before I interrupted, or we're you still undecided?" you ask coyly.

"I was strongly considering buying," I admit. "But sitting here with you has made me realize how silly it would be. Besides, there's no way to buy something discreetly." That's the real reason, if you couldn't tell. "My credit card receipts are official Hellsing business. You understand."

"I'll help you get whatever you want."

"I don't..." I pause. "Really?"

"You said you're too young to walk into one of these stores. So I'll do it. I'll buy whatever you want."

That was tempting. But then, if I did something like that, something would fundamentally be different between us from now on, something I wasn't comfortable with. "I am your master, and I must command you. This is going to sound awful after the lovely time we've had tonight, but I can't allow you to be so familiar with me."

You wave your hand dismissively. "Servants of old," you argue, "used to dress and even_ bathe_ their masters. As a servant, I can serve your intimate, private needs discreetly and professionally. All I'm doing is running an errand..."

I don't listen to the rest of what you say, as I am preoccupied with the mental image of us sitting naked in a bath tub, while you 'discreetly and professionally' serve my 'private, intimate needs.'

"I can read your thoughts," you remind me.

We're both quiet. Then we both start laughing again.

-- To be continued in Integra's Fantasy Part II


	3. Integra's Fantasy Part II

Integra's Fantasy Part II

---

I imagine most "adult" stores aren't seedy places, but the one we went to was.

That was by design. The nice ones attract people. This one looked completely deserted, which is exactly what I wanted: blacked out windows and deteriorating signs that exclaimed the video booths now accept credit cards as well as cash.

I'm standing outside in the alley way across the street and _damning_ myself for not changing out of this uniform…especially the skirt. Its _February_. Its' too dry for snow, but the wind is bitter, and its midnight I'm freezing.

You went inside on your own about fifteen minutes ago and I haven't seen another customer go in or out since.

Still, I'm nervous about being alone out here. Who knows what lecherous, horny customers are skulking around here. Then I mentally slap myself--I'm also a lecherous, horny customer skulking about outside the porn shop. I shouldn't judge other men or women for shopping at the same store I'm at.

Finally, you emerge and you meet me on the sidewalk. There's a feral glint in your eye--your pupils are narrow and red. I know that look.. I've seen that look in your eyes right before battle, and right before you feed. Something has you worked up.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"There's too much many options. You should come in and pick something out."

I'm suspicious. "That's it? You have this expression like a red cross truck overturned."

"I found some fun things inside for us to play with. But you'll need to come in."

I gesture at the "18 and over, I.D. required" sign above the door.

You laugh. "Don't worry about the clerk."

We get to the door and I take a deep breath. I've never been inside a porn shop and I have no idea what to expect, or _who_ to expect, inside.

It's poorly lit, but well organized. At the front entrance, two mannequins display bondage gear, and after that there's rows and rows of merchandise and various displays. At the front counter, there's a locked case filled with hand-blown glass dildos and jewel encrusted nipple clamps (for strippers, I imagine. Or prostitutes.) and various lubricants. There's obscene things hanging everywhere, and there's limitless shelves and displays of porn--porn magazines, porn vhs tapes and dvds--to buy and to _rent _(also a foreign concept to me)--racks of lingerie, adult books, and of course sex toys.

Instead of making any effort at all to sneak past the clerk at the register, you steer me right to him. He casually flips through a girly magazine. He doesn't look too old, or fat or sleazy. Actually, he looks pretty decent except for a grease stain on his collar. When he hears us, he looks up and sees me. "She can't be in here, buddy," he tells you quickly. "I don't care what your tastes are, but she can't be in the store-- 18 and over only."

"She _is_ 18," you insist, looking deeply into his eyes. "Don't you see how beautiful she is?"

The clerks eyes glaze over. He looks me up and down, hungrily. I self consciously lock my knees, pressing my thighs together.

You run your hands possessively up and down my arms. You turn your attention back to the hapless clerk. "She doesn't _look_ under 18, does she?"As your palms glide over my arms, your finger tips brush the sides of my breasts. The hair on my arms prickle.

"No," the clerk says, a zombie. "She's totally 18."

My pulse pounds. You really have the power to manipulate people-- you can take over someone's mind. I've known from reading about you that you can do it, but this is the first time I've ever seen it. It looks so effortless. I expect us to go about our business now, with the clerk sufficiently subdued, but you make no move to leave him.

"Yes, she's no child. She's a beautiful temptress, and she's here to seduce you," you say, your voice dripping in arousal. Your hands continue to slide up and down my arms.

I hold my breath. "Alucard, what are you _doing_?" I don't try to stop you--I'm starting to grow excited by the feeling of the fabric pulling across my breasts as you tease me. I don't want to admit it, so I pretend not to notice the sensation.

"Using my powers to protect your identity," you tell me innocently, "and showing you the _first _interesting toy I found that we can play with."

"Wow….," the clerk moaned. "A beautiful temptress. She's so hot." Immediately, I notice the growing bulge between his legs.

"He's aroused by you now," you tell me, whispering sensually in my ear.

I'm completely absorbed, but I try to act dismissive. "What? Is he your type?"

"You thought he was pretty handsome when we walked through the door. Doesn't it excite you to see him lust for you? Look at him." You nuzzle my neck. "Looking at you makes him want to cum. I bet if you just touched him a little, he would. Doesn't it feel good to have that much power over someone?"

"He's a stranger. Why would you want….?"

"That makes it even better. He's a nameless nobody to use and forget. Go ahead. Have a thrill." I feel you push me towards him.

"You can't be serious!" I exclaim as you move me closer and closer, but I see that you are serious when you take my hand and direct my palm towards his noticeable bulge. I want to resist you, but I'm completely spellbound, and I allow you to guide my hand. "I…I can't do that. I've never…I've never touched anyone like that before…."

"We'll do it together," you assure me, kissing my neck. I feel the cold wetness of your breath against my skin, your cool lips planting moist kisses above my sensitive collar bone where my jugular vein is pounding."I'll help you."

I feel a rush of moisture between my legs and my thoughts start rushing as my heart beats faster and faster.

_We'll do it together_.

Somehow, what you've said jolts me into a sexual fog. _We'll do it together._

Does watching your virginal master indulge in naive, sexual experimentation excite you? You seem so eager to guide me through a sexual experience, yet you're not trying to position yourself as my sexual partner. You left that role to a stranger. Why? Are you a voyeur? Or do you just like making me into a predator, like you?

"Very astute," you praise, and my skin crawls as I realize you've been listening to my thoughts. "I imagine it _will_ bepleasing to watch. But you misunderstand, my little master. This isn't about _my_ pleasure. I promised you I would service your needs. And I will. But if it were _my_ body writhing under your curious hands, I would be too distracted to talk you through this experience. Just relax and follow my directions and I know you'll feel very satisfied when this night is over."

I'm trembling with expectancy, fear and disgust with myself. I'm extremely aroused and my skin is burning everywhere. You're voice is so thick with lust, my nipples tighten and ache when you speak. I don't _want_ to feel this way, but I do. I don't _want_ to be excited by this, but I am. I don't want to be a insatiable slut, eager for wickedness like the sub-humans I've seen in pornography, so easily manipulated and yet…this is exactly what I've been longing for, aching for. This is exactly what I've been imagining as I've fingered myself night after night.

"I know," you tell me, still deep in my mind. "I've been enjoying your fantasies. I've watched you as you've laid in bed, and even though you were tucked deep under your blankets, I could see your hips grinding and I've heard your little whimpers as you touch yourself. I love your guilty dreams. I love how they make you moan. I know exactly what makes you wet, and I know what you think about when you cum." You kiss my neck again, hungry and aroused in your own right.

I feel violated and helpless. You didn't find me by accident today--you've known all along about my habits and all my paranoia was justified. You have been watching me in the dark, spying on me, infringing on my privacy and taking advantage of me. You patronizing _asshole_, taking me for a _fool_.

"No, master," you whisper, nibbling on my collarbone, "I've been _guarding_ you. I've kept the others away from your office and your bedroom while you've indulged yourself so that you wouldn't be interrupted or discovered. I would never allow my master's reputation to be compromised." You can't seem to keep your mouth off of me. You're either kissing or nibbling or gently licking my neck between every breath.

"That didn't stop _you _from watching me," I sob.

"I couldn't look away. It was just as natural for me to watch as it was for you to explore yourself. Besides….the thoughts that make you wet make me hard. What you think about when you cum is what I think about when I cum." For a vampire with no functioning respiratory system, you're breathing is labored.

My legs are mush. I'm not standing as much as you are holding me up. I can't consent to anything--I am a shaking rag-doll, and you could probably do anything you wanted to me at this point. But I don't make any objections as you close the distance between my hand and the clerk.

You guide my hand and press it between his legs, and I feel the first cock I've ever felt. It's solid and very warm. I can feel the veins pulsating under the cloth. I gasp, dizzy at the alien and forbidden sensation of maleness under my fingers. The clerk starts whimpering at my awkward fondling.

"How does it feel?" you mummer softly, your mouth close to my ear.

"It feels wrong," I say, battling different emotions that are mixing in the pit of my stomach.

"I'll help you make it feel right," you assure me. "Glide your hand up and down his shaft and stimulate him. When you hear his moans, you won't feel guilty. You'll see that he likes it. You may like it, too."

I don't know why, but I do as you instruct, clumsily rubbing my hand over his bulge. Even though there's layers of cloth between my hand and his penis, it doesn't seem to stifle his ability to feel sensation. As you predicted, the clerk begins to hump against my hand and moan loudly. "Oooh….ahhhhh…..!"

His slutty voice is starting to arouse me. I start making longer, bolder and firmer strokes. Your hand leaves mine and I'm fixated as your hand reaches under where I'm stroking. I know you're about to touch him too. I'm ecstatic, and I watch closely. You're about to touch his cock. I can't believe it. I wonder if it excites you as much as I'm excited right now. I wonder if _your_ cock is as hard as the clerk's. I wriggle my ass and try to press myself into your crotch in the hopes of finding evidence of your erection, but you are bent at the waste to hold me, and I'm much shorter then you, and so your lower half is far away from mine.

I watch as your gloved hand firmly grips the base of the clerk's cock through his clothes.

The clerk's breath hitches, and he starts gasping from the additional sensations. "Ah! Ah! Ah!"

Confidently, you start pumping your hand up and down his length, your hand meeting mine as I cautiously massage what feels like the cock head. "That's good," you encourage. "I can feel him twitching. He's going to cum soon."

Your voice is throaty. I know you're aroused, too. What will you do, Alucard, to relieve your own lust? I wonder if you'll make the clerk touch _your _cock. I wonder if making the clerk touch your cock is all you'd do…or if you'd take it farther. I become breathless when I imagine maybe you'll make _me_ touch your cock. I ask myself: would I resist, if you demanded it? After all, I'm pleasing a total stranger without hesitation. I feel a rush of arousal as I imagine my own hands enthusiastically pumping up and down your shaft while you fill the air with your slutty, aggressive moans.

"You're touching _him_ but you're thinking about _me_," you whisper in my ear.

I'm dizzy. I don't know what to say. "I'm wet," I blurt.

"I know," you tell me, your mouth caressing my ear. "Show me that you can please his cock. Make him cum with your hands." You move your hand away from the clerk and you snake both your arms around my waste and hold me tight against your body, leaving only my hand on the clerk. One of your hands absently rubs the underside of my breast, and I wish that you would cup it in your hand, but you make no move to stimulate my body except for the occasional caress with your lips against my ear and neck, and I feel those are _not_ efforts to pleasure me at all, but merely involuntary expressions of your own barely restrained lust. "Go ahead, master. Show me how you're going to make him cum."

I stifle a whimper of arousal. I love how this turns you on. I want to put on a good show for you, and make _you_ cum, too. "Ok," I agree, using both hands to pump the clerk's trembling dick in my small hands. It doesn't take long. I can feel him swelling under my hands.

"That's good, that's good," you urge feverishly. If I didn't know better, I would think it was _your_ cock I was pleasing by how excited you sound, by the hitch in your voice. "Keep going. Keep stroking his dick. He's right on the edge."

"Ahh! Ahh!" The clerk is writhing and moaning loudly. "Ahhhh! Ahhh!"

"Keep stroking his dick," you tell me. "You're doing good. You doing very good. See how he's putty in your masterful hands? Make his cock feel good. Make him your slave."

"Ahhhh! Ahhh!"

I keep pumping with my hands, urged on by your praise.

I heard an involuntary grunt and the clerk closes his cloudy eyes and clenches his jaw. The clerk humps my hands wildly, moaning .

"He's cumming in your hands," you sigh. "He's cumming in his pants and now its streaming down his legs…like a pathetic, used slut. Tell me, Integra, doesn't he look like a worthless whore?"

What I just saw was incredible. I watch the clerk slump back and lean against the counter. My body is humming. I could cum right now too if I wasn't trapped in your embrace….just a little stimulation in between my dripping pussy lips would relieve me. I wiggle in your arms, trying to maneuver my hand between my own legs. Just a little stimulation….

Your hand catches mine before I can lift my skirt and sink my fingers into my throbbing ache. "Master, calm yourself."

"I want to cum," I beg, shaking.

"Hush…." you soothe, in your thick, sultry voice. "Keep control of your body and don't fall victim to the same urges that makes this human scum inferior to you."

"No, please, I want to cum."

"Shhh." You hold my hands tight against my belly and you cradle my body against yours. "You _will_ cum. You'll cum many, many times. By dawn, you'll be begging me to _stop _making you cum. But you'll cum in a beautiful, earth-shattering way--not pathetically, like _him_. Don't spoil our evening by cumming it too soon. In fact…" you release my hand and you pull your silky cravat from around your neck, then you take my wrists and tie them tightly together behind my back.

"No….no," I beg shamefully, rubbing my thighs together. "Don't tie me up."

"You're completely safe in my custody. I promise." You turn and look at the clerk. "What shall I do with your left-overs?" you ask hungrily, your eyes raking up and down his exhausted, sweaty body.

I feel a rush, despite my dissapointment. My skin erupts in gooseflesh. "What do you mean?"

You look back at me, smiling devilishly, revealing rows of gleaming fangs. "May I have him? I want him to facilitate my pleasure as well." For emphasis, you reach over and stroke the man's trembling thigh.

For a moment, I feel a twinge of guilt. I look at the clerk's face, his cloudy eyes and hypnotized expression. He has no idea what's happened to him, but even if he knew a girl came to his work place to give him a hand-job, I'm sure he wouldn't complain. However, giving him over to my threatening and quite male vampire to be his play-thing is nothing short of rape, and I would be complicit in his rape if I turned a blind eye to what you want to do.

Yet…

He wouldn't remember anything. And you look so _good_ sliding your hand up and down his thigh. With each pass, I feel impossibly wetter and wetter. The look of unrestrained lust in your face is making me so hot. All I have to do is nod and you'll undo your pants and I can watch your cock spring up from between your legs and saw in and out of some anonymous stranger's ass. And I can watch you empty your milky semen into his unwilling body as you cum, your face clenched in bliss. I want to see you cum. I want to know what kind of noises you make when you do. I want to watch.

Stiffly, I nod. "He's yours."

Your face blooms with delight and you seize the clerk's throat in your hands and sink your teeth into his jugular vein.

My heart's seizing. I didn't realize you meant you wanted to _kill _him. My mouth opens to scream, but no sound escapes. I just consented to this murder. I gave you permission to do it.

The clerk's face screws up in agony as you steal his essence. After a few seconds, it relaxes into a heavenly expression while you grunt and suck hungrily, blood escaping from between your lips and dripping on the floor.

Finally, as the two of you thrash, I see it at last--the evidence of your arousal, the obvious protuberance of your swollen erection straining against the front of your pants. You rhythmically grind it into his hip, stimulating yourself against him, and you moan openly.

Suddenly, you drop the clerk and his body hits the floor with a heavy "thud."

You wipe your mouth absently, your eyes closed, your face glowing. "Mmm. That was good. Thank you, master."

I'm shivering with guilt, staring at the body on the floor. His was the first cock I ever felt, my first sexual experience with another person, and you just snuffed him out of existence and I didn't even know his name. And I didn't try and stop you. I didn't even voice an objection. I'm worse than internet slut-scum. I'm a worthless whore--truly ready to do _anything_ for sexual stimulation. What will I stop at? What will _you_ stop at?

I look at you, and I want to be furious with you. You clearly made suggestive gestures towards the clerk like you wanted to fuck him, and I know you did that to mislead me. Again, you've taken advantage of me.

But you look _so good_.

I can still see your unsatisfied erection straining against the front of your pants. I watch you adjust your rumpled clothing, straightening your jack and smoothing it down your front. Then you turn your attention to me and smile. "Thank you again, master. That was very, very good. Knowing that you were watching me, knowing that you were witnessing my pleasure--that made it even better. That made me so hard." You walk towards me. "Are you ready for more pleasure? Do you want to see what else I found in this store that will make you feel good?"

Oh, _God,_ I want to cum. "Yes."

--

To Be Continued in Integra's Fantasy Part III

Author's Note: MORE SMUTZ TO COME.


	4. Integra's Fantasy Part III

Integra's Fantasy Part III

---

You just killed an innocent person, and I want to fuck you.

I'm tied up by you, my hands bound together by your scarlet red cravat, and you lead me across the store like a dog, whispering sexy things to me in your beautiful voice. Every few minutes, as I start to emerge from the cloud of sexual arousal, you start to tell me how you're going to make me cum soon, and how you aren't going to let me _stop_ cumming, and how you're going to be the custodian of my sex from now on, and how I have an easy life of pleasure to look forward to, with you 'administering' orgasms to me _every _night--whether I want it or _not_.

Even in my sexual fog, that sounds like rape. You, apparently, have your own perspective:

"It's for your own well-being," you tell me reassuringly, stroking my back with one hand, guiding me by your red silken _leash _with the other. "There will be no awkward back-seat fondling for you, my master. I will not tolerate the groping hands of lowly teenage boys or lecherous men, trying to force you to facilitate their base desires as you navigate the twisted and dangerous path of sexual exploration. I will not allow you to feel ashamed or taken advantage of. And most importantly, I will not let your virginity be spoiled."

I feel both like a princess and a slave. I'm being led by a _leash_. I'm terrified, and anxious, and impatient. I want to give myself to you. I'm ready to completely surrender to your evil schemes. I guess its not possible for me to be raped by you—I'm ready to beg you to fuck me on the floor, right here, right now.

"Hush," you tell me, pausing to kiss my neck. It electrifies my skin. "You're body is at fever pitch. Maybe I waited too long to initiate this intimacy. You're wound so tight, I suspect maybe you were ready for this arrangement months ago. But I thought you were still too young. I should have been more responsive to your frequent masturbation habits. Obviously, you're so aroused; you're going to orgasm from just the sound of my voice."

"I like your voice," is the only response I can muster—timid, whispered.

You chuckle softly. "Thank you, master." You kiss my neck again, parting your lips and letting the cold, wet tip of your vampire tongue trace my collarbone. "Its time. Are you ready to accept me as the guardian of your chastity? Do you promise to give yourself to me and obey me, and put your trust entirely in me to decide what's best for you and your sensitive little body?"

I look up at you with glassy eyes. "Alucard? Are you using your mind control powers to make me feel like this?"

You sound amused; "No, of course not, master."

I struggle to remain focused. "I'm….I'm not happy you killed the clerk. I feel like I should be….more…_not _happy…than I am. I feel like I should be really….mad. _Really mad._ But….your voice is distracting me. You used your voice to hypnotize the clerk. How do I know you're not using those same powers to manipulate me?"

You smile, rows of gleaming teeth and fangs catching sinisterly in the dim, electric light of the porn shop. "Am I manipulating you? Oh_ yes_." You lightly place your index finger on my throat and drag it slowly down my neck, sliding it between my heaving breasts, down my sternum and my belly, then over the rise of my hip and finally resting on my upper thigh. "But I don't need any supernatural powers to bend you to my will." That finger creeps under the hem of my skirt and starts tracing up the inside of my bare leg, to the hollow of my thigh, to my panty-covered sex.

You lean very close and place your mouth against my ear and whisper: "Integra. My master: You're a _slut_. You _want _this. You want to get _used_ like a cheap fuck toy. But don't be afraid; I promise I'll use you. And when I'm done using you, you won't just be a whore. You'll be a _vampire's_ whore. The Director of the Hellsing Organization—a vampire's cheap _whore_. " You kiss my ear. "And if you're a good, obedient little girl, I won't tell anyone what a fucking nasty slut you _are_."

I almost faint, but you catch me.

"It's okay, it's okay," you whisper gently. "Hush my master. Don't cry. Shhhh."

It takes me a moment to realize I _am_ crying. I've collapsed into your arms and I'm sobbing silently.

"Hush my little master. Everything's okay. See? Look."

I look up and see your finger presented to me. I look at it in confusion. It's wet. The fabric of your gloves is soaked, the pink flesh of your digit peaking through. "I don't understand."

"It's the fluids that leaked out of your body while I was talking dirty to you. Look how much it pleased you to be spoken to in such a demeaning, hostile way. Would you trust a stranger to speak to you like that? No, you can only trust me to say such harsh things. My master is my queen." You kiss my tear covered face. "I think you're ready. Would you like me to make you cum now?"

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I nod.

"My master. I'll make you cum now. Follow me." You lead me to the back of the store where there's a big, heavy-looking black door I mistakenly thought was an exit. On the door, it reads "Arcade." You open the door, and there's blackness on the other side, and tinny sounds of digital recordings of some sort.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Video booths," you tell me, ushering me inside. As my eye adjust to the darkness, I see we're in a long, narrow corridor with booths on either side with little black curtains for privacy. "You come in here to watch pornography." With that, you guide me into a booth--a crude little box with a seat, almost like a dressing room, with a video monitor mounted across from the seat with a touch screen and a dollar slot. On the video screen, previews of different videos show on a loop. You sit down on the bench and set your bag of sex toys on the seat next to you.

"Come here and stand in front of me."

I step forward and stand facing you, trembling.

You untie my hands and take back the cravat and place it next to you. "Are you ready?" you ask again softly, your eyes sliding into half-closed slits.

Oh, _god_. Yes. _Yes._ I want it. Whatever you have planned in your sick mind, I want it, even though I'm scared of it, and of you, and I know I'll regret whatever happens forever, and my whole life is about to change for a few minutes of mindless, fleeting carnal pleasures, and I'm supposed to be your master, and I'm only a little girl and you are over 500 years old and this is pedophilia times a _thousand_. "Please, Alucard," I whisper.

You lean back and relax. "Good girl. Lift up your skirt and show me what's underneath."

I feel numbness in my face at the request. Then my hands go numb. I close my eye and try to keep myself from fainting. My trembling hands reach for the hem of my skirt, and I lift it slowly, over my knees, over my thighs and finally above my hips, exposing my little white panties and, I'm sure, the patch of translucent wetness against my hungry slit.

"Good girl," you praise. "Stay just like that while I get ready. I want to feel good, too." You start rubbing yourself sensually between your legs and your erection swells to life. "You're a real good girl. Stand just like that. Keep showing me. You're making my cock feel good. You like my cock? You like looking at it?"

I nod. Watching you touch yourself is incredible. I am mesmerized by your hand stroking your growing bulge.

"I bet you want to touch my cock."

I nod again. I _do_ want to touch your cock. I want to lick it, too. I want to do dirty things to you.

"Soon, if you're good. First I want you to strip for me. Do exactly as I say." You slow your stroking and let your hand rest on your thigh. "Turn around and face the screen." I do as you command and turn my back to you. I'm looking at the monitor screen, at bleach blond sluts bouncing obscenely up and down on hard cocks, cum drizzled over their stupid, blow-up doll like faces. "Take your blouse off and tie it around your waste."

Shaking, breathless, I do as you ask. I pull my blouse out of the hem of my skirt and unbutton it. I pull it off and my skin erupts into goose flesh from the cold air. I tie the arms of the blouse around me. I feel so exposed already.

"That's good. Now take your bra off and throw it on the floor."

This is more difficult. Its faster to do, but I'll finally be exposing myself to you, which seemed like an easy task a second ago, but now confronted with it I'm freezing up.

"Take your time," you encourage sympathetically. "Take it off. Take it off and discard it."

After several deep breaths I obey, reaching back behind me to unclasp the back and I slide the white fabric over my arms and let it drop to the floor. I know you can't see them, but I'm compelled to cover my breasts with my hands. My face is burning with embarrassment. My coral nipples are tight and erect in the cool air.

"You're a very brave little girl," you say. "You're doing good. Now, put the blouse back on. Button up every button, and tuck it back into your skirt."

I'm confused by the nature of this request, but remembering my promise to do whatever you asked, I do it anyways. I slowly put my blouse back on and button it back up. I can see my reflection slightly in the monitor screen, and other then my nipples lewdly pressing against the fabric, I look like my neat and proper self.

"Now take your panties off, but leave your skirt on. Lower them down your legs, and let them drop to the floor. Step out of them and leave them."

I lift my skirt up again and slide my wet panties down. This act I'm grateful for. The cool air feels good against my overheated pussy. I step out of the panties and leave them on the sticky, cum and fluid-covered floor, as you asked.

"Now turn around and face me." You pat your lap. "Sit with me and face the screen."

Shaking, I climb up on you lap, settling my rump into your lap. I rest my back against your chest, and you wrap your arms around my little body. "Good girl," you tell me softly. "Put your legs on the outside of mine. When I open my legs, yours will open wider."

I do as you ask, opening my legs and semi-straddling you. Even with your legs shut, mine are open very wide to accommodate your adult-sized thighs. How wide will I be spread when you open your legs too?

You take the cravat laying on the bench and tie my wrists together again, then lift my wrists over your head and settle them behind your neck. When you lean back, my hands are effectively restrained, my breasts lifted high from my stretching.

"Good girl, Integra," you whisper softly, taking your hands and sliding them up and down my flanks, grazing the sides of my breasts, and bunching my skirt up with each pass, pulling the hem of my skirt higher and higher up my thighs. "If you have a change of heart, there's no going back. Your tender little body belongs to me now, and I will decide when you feel pleasure, or pain."

Next to you is a shopping bag filled with sex toys that you collected already. Your hand slips inside and you pull out what look like white binder clips, with rubber edges around where the metal lips meet. You set them on my lap so I can look at them. "These will cause you light pain. They will enhance the pleasure you feel. Trust in me, and you will cum soon."

Your hands cup my breasts, making me gasp. You lightly touch my nipples through the cloth of my blouse with your fingers, circling them.

I sigh, feeling jolts of delicious, wicked pleasure from being touched so sensually. My breasts have never been touched by another person before. It feels both uncomfortable and electric and I want more. I moan openly, letting you know how much I like what you're doing. "Oohhhh….ohhhh…."

You seem to like my little noises. In response, you give my nipples light pinches, which brings me painful shocks that make me gasp, but then you tease and softly rub my nipples to soothe them, making me melt. Back and forth between little licks of pain and soft, sensual rubs. I see what you mean when you said pain can enhance pleasure. I anticipate your gentle pinches and moan appreciatively when I feel them. "Ah! Ohhhh….ohhhhh! Ah! Ah!" I writhe in your lap, eyes closed tightly, moaning.

"That's good, my master," you encourage. "Make those hungry little noises for me. Nice and loud. Don't hold back."

You release one of my nipples and take a binder clip off my lap. You open it up and place it on my protruding nipple straining against my white blouse, slowly letting it shut and clamp down on my sensitive little bud. This immediately brings me intense pain, much harsher than your fingers. I thrash and squeal. "Nooo! No, that hurts!"

You hold me down. "Hush my master. The pain is good. It will bring you pleasure."

"No! No, it hurts much too much! Its crushing it!" I wriggle in helpless agony, my heavy breasts swaying against my heaving chest, but the clamp keep my one breast pinned to my shirt. As I struggle, I only inflict more pain on myself. Trembling from ache, I start to settle down, trying to still myself, my eyes welling with tears.

"The pain causes an adrenalin rush," you explain softly. "Your heart rate increases, causing your already engorged gentiles to swell and become even more sensitive. The pain brings a jolt of sensation." You kiss my neck several times, soothing me. "Soon, you will learn to like the pain. You may soon learn to orgasm from it alone. I would like to paddle your bottom sometime, and see if I can make you cum without penetration or clitoral stimulation. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

I only barley hear you. My attention is fully occupied by my throbbing, pounding nipple. It hurts so much. I could punch you, it hurts so much.

"Time for the other one," you say, taking up the other clamp.

I whine with dread. "Nooo, please no."

"Put your trust in me, and you will cum soon." You clamp my other nipple, bringing excruciating pain.

"Nooooo!" I shriek. I try and stop myself from thrashing, knowing it will only hurt me, but the response is involuntary. Thankfully, you hold me tightly again, but this time the twin sensations of both my nipples being crushed simultaneously is too overwhelming to overcome. The pain is blinding. I thrash and scream in spite of myself. "Please, Alucard, I can't take it. It hurts! It hurts! Please take them off, please, I'll do anything, please take them off!"

You ignore my pleas and continue to hold me tightly against your chest, kissing my ear lovingly and whispering to me soft, sweet things while I cry and kick and beg in vain.

The initial shock begins to wear off after several miserable minutes, and soon I'm left with an angry pounding instead of the biting, tearing sensation I started with. It's not less painful, but it's painful in a long, burning, throbbing, aching way instead of a flesh ripping way. My sobs become quieter. I still want them off terribly. "Alucard, please…"

"We'll have to establish a routine," you say absently, pleasantly, caressing the undersides of my abused breasts. "Midnight is an adequate time. You should be finished with your duties by then. That is when I will meet you in your bedroom for servicing. I'll leave it to you remember to meet me. However, if you are late, if you intentionally cause me delay, I will punish you with a spanking." To emphasize your threat, you cruelly twist one of the nipple clamps, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. This refreshes all the terrible sensations I felt when you first put it on me. "You may think that's harsh of me, but I can't allow you to put off our meetings, or else we'll carry on until so early in the morning you won't be able to function, negating all the good servicing causes in the first place."

I emit inhuman, sad mewlings. I am beyond words.

"I expect you to strip for me and lay in the middle of the bed with your arms and legs spread. That will be easiest. Then I will service your body, using various tools and techniques." You slowly release one of your hands from around my waist and it drifts down towards my skirt. "I'll bring you to a predetermined number of orgasms, and then I'll tuck you into bed and let you sleep. You'll find you've never had a deeper, more restful sleep." You inch your own legs apart, which also spreads my own legs. My hot pussy lips begin to part, and I shiver with anticipation. I watch your hand descend towards my aching mound. "You may find this arrangement intrusive at first, but you'll grow to accept me. Over time, you won't be able to imagine things being any other way, and you'll look forward to our trysts, and think back on them fondly. I promise to always satisfy you and keep you feeling fulfilled. There's no fantasy, no fetish you can't confide in me. I will accommodate your every desire." Your finger tips trace my panty edges through the cloth of my skirt. You brush your hand over my warm pussy, grazing your knuckles over my sensitive lips. "As you grow older and you feel more comfortable and more adventurous, we can experiment with new things." Your middle finger dips into the cloth of my skirt, into my moist panties, nudging in between my pussy lips. I gasp and quiver at the forbidden intrusion, moaning loudly, feeling the pounding in my nipples. I think you realize you've found my sweet spot on the first try. You smile and tease me, rubbing your finger back and forth, stimulating me. I whimper and desperately hump your hand. "We can go to public places," you continue, "and I'll display you to strangers. Maybe we could take a long train ride through a scenic mountain range, and while you relax in your seat I'll lift up your skirt and finger your damp slit while some hapless tourist watches. Or maybe I could strip you, blind fold you and tie you to the bed posts of some seedy hotel room and leave the door wide open. You'll lure anonymous playmates _and_ my dinner."

I'm swept away by your sexy voice. I'm putty in your hands, unable to resist. "Ohhh, Alucard," I moan helplessly.

You remove your finger from my body, and you begin to pull my skirt up, bunching it around my waist. "I will share you with select individuals who will facilitate your pleasure at my command." I feel the cold air against my bare legs and bare pussy. My eyes are shut tight, but I know my flesh is finally exposed to you. "You'll learn to trust me, even as I give you to others. You'll be subjected to hours of erotic play by dozens of skilled hands and mouths. I'll never leave your side, cradling your head in my lap, watching your face screw up in ecstasy from repeated orgasms." I feel you finger dance over my bare thigh, tracing circles in my inner leg, creeping closer and closer to my lush pussy. "Only then, my master. Only then, when you're completely exhausted, and you're entwined in dozens of hot limbs, your face flush and your hair damp, your nipples and ass being licked by my hoards…only then will I climb over your diminutive body and reveal my flesh to you."

Your finger traces my damp slit and I swoon. You smear my moisture around lazily, running your finger up and down, up and down. I jiggle and in your arms, my breasts swaying against my blouse, my nipples crushed by your toys. I want you. I want you.

"I'll kiss your mouth and you'll open your lips and accept me. You'll feel so strange. For all the years I've made you cum, we've never kissed. You'll know its time, and I'll leave the choice to you."

"Choice?" I whimper.

Your finger dips into my moist folds at last, sinking deep inside, testing the tightness of my channel. You can barely get your finger to the second knuckle, and being the gentleman you are, you withdraw it slowly and don't try to force it. "Whether or not you want to be my Draculina or bear my offspring. You cannot make the wrong choice. Both please me equally. Whichever path you choose, I will guarantee your happiness." You kiss the back of my neck. "I will either drink your blood at that moment, while you are still a virgin, or I will bathe your ripe womb with my seed until I am confident you are with child. Either way, I shall return to Hellsing victorious."

I feel an odd moment of clarity and a sting of betrayal. "This doesn't have anything to do with wanting to please me. You want to conquer Hellsing. And you'll do it by contaminating my family line with your blood. Of course either choice pleases you—both choices have the same result."

You kiss me again. "I never said my intentions were pure. I have wanted to take my vengeance against Abraham Van Helsing for over one hundred years. I bet Abraham never imagined that one day I would be fingering his great-granddaughter's tight snatch in a porn shop."

Your cruel fingers twist a nipple clamp while your other hand finds my tender clit and starts to strum it mercilessly. "His great-granddaughter is a slut. A vampire's slut. Soon, you'll submit to me and you'll learn to suckle my cock and drink my foul cum down your throat. And you'll love it."

I'm too far gone to stop you now. I feel the build up in my loins. My nipples, despite the clamps, are firm and erect and pounding harder than ever. I know I'm going to cum soon, and nothing can stop it. I don't try to resist. I have already surrendered to you. "Ohhh, ohhhh, ohhhh!"

You spread your legs wider and my legs open even wider, and I sink into your lap deeper, my ass hanging over the edge of the seat. I cling to your thighs with my legs and try not to fall down.

With your one hand still strumming away at my clit, I watch the other delve into the bag at your side and emerge with a silicone dildo. "I believe," you say mischievously, "this is originally the item that you came here to find. Here it is, Integra. Your long-sought after vibrator."

That seemed like a million years ago. I look at it with a foggy and detached, sex-laced disinterest.

You bring it to my lips. "Suck," you instruct.

I obediently open my mouth and you shove the plastic prick in. You pump it in and out of my mouth, whispering, "Get it good and wet. Lick it good." I load it with saliva, getting it as lubed as my mouth can. Finally, you withdraw it and position it at the entrance of my exposed pussy. You twist a dial on the end of the vib and it buzzes to life. You momentarily rest the head of the toy against my wet entrance, letting the vibrations shock me, then you start to corkscrew the small dildo into my body. I start to scream.

"Now, now, master. This is a small toy, so it shouldn't stretch you too much. Accept it into your body. If it helps, pretend it's my cock."

I know the toy is small, but I've never had anything inserted into my body before. The invasion feels very severe, and the vibrations are earth-shattering. You screw it into my body deeper and deeper. Finally, I feel the dial pressing against my clit, so I know the little thing is all the way inside me. I can feel it buzzing against my G-spot. I'm gasping and moaning helplessly, writhing in your lap.

But I hear you digging in the toy bag again. I look down and see you withdraw another smaller vib, no thicker than your pinky and no longer than your index finger. On the side, it reads "Bullet."

"These little ones are very strong and very fast," you warn me. "They're very good for clitoral stimulation. I think you'll like this one very much." You turn it on and it makes a very high-pitched buzzing. "Mmm. It tickles my hand just to hold it. Here, let me try it on you."

I watch in terror as it descends on my erect and engorged clit. "Ahhhhhh!" I scream as it makes contact. Its so fast and so strong…it almost feels like an electrical current, like I'm getting electro shocked right on my clit.

You laugh at my terrified reaction. You don't leave the thing on my clit for long. You subject me to a series of light touches, just breezing over my clit. Each pass make me scream and thrash.

"I should get a harness that will position this directly over your clit," you muse. "I'll tie you up and leave it turned on high and just leave you for a few hours to thrash, scream and cum your brains out. Or maybe I'll shove it up your asshole while I make you suck my cock. Mmm. Yes, that sounds delicious."

You press the bullet against my clit again and again, making me cry and beg and scream. Then you take the bullet reach under my bottom and I feel you press it up against my anus. The buzzing jolts my tender nerve endings and I jump. "No! No, please, not that!"

You just laugh at me, pressing the bullet firmly against my asshole, not trying to penetrate me, just giving my delicate opening the scare of its life. You rub it back and forth over my bud, pressing it tighter against me as I struggle to escape its strong vibrations. "Noooo! Noooo!"

"I'll spare your tight ass tonight," you say, "but I'll want my pleasure eventually, and I'm not going to wait until I take your virginity to have it. No, soon you'll learn to willingly pleasure me with your asshole. You'll learn to love the feel of my cock sawing in and out of your tight anal flesh. You'll find yourself begging me to fuck your nasty hole. You'll see me in the office and you'll rub your ass sensuously against my cock and you'll bend over and present your ripe ass to me and beg me to fuck you. I'll have to give you a harsh spanking and remind you to wait for your servicing. I'll give you all the hot ass fucking you can take then. I fill your ass with my cum, then you can suck your disgusting juices off me shaft with your mouth."

I feel the tip of the bullet press into my anus. It's so small and slender and my ass cheeks are covered in my vaginal juices leaking from my used pussy, it just slides in. The harsh, electric buzzing fills my bottom and rocks my core.

I start cumming. Loudly.

--

"Sir Integra?" Walter shouts, banging on the door.

I jolt awake. I'm sitting in your lap, just as I was a moment ago in the porn shop; my legs are spread obscenely wide, my bare rump and pussy hanging in mid-air, my skirt bunched around my waist. But some key elements are different. I'm not in a porn shop, for one thing, and there's no buzzing dildos or bullets inserted in my body. Just your gloved fingers. I look down and see your index finger firmly inserted into my vaginal opening, and your thumb is deep inside my burning ass. Instead of sophisticated nipple clamps attached to my breasts, there are two simple binder clips, taken directly off my desk.

In front of us, my laptop is open, with the same porn and sex toy site displayed on the monitor as there was hours ago.

I look back at you, and you look more shocked than I am. "I got carried away," you say in the smallest voice I've ever heard.

Reality hits me like a ton of bricks. It was a fantasy. You manipulated me with your mind and made me think we went out in the world to do horrible things, but the truth is we never left my office. I've been here the whole time in the safety of my own home, with nothing but your voice and your fingers.

Walter is banging on the door. "Sir Integra! Sir Integra!"

I'm too shocked to speak. I'm looking at your face, searching for answers to questions I can ask out loud. "_Alucard?_" is all I can muster, in the most hurt and betrayed voice.

I scramble off your lap and shove my skirt down and (regretfully)rip the binder clamps off my breasts. "Oh my God!" I shriek, blood rushing back to my crushed nipples. "Oh GOD IT HURTS!" I collapse to the floor.

Walter kicks in the door and rushes to my side when he sees me on the ground. "Sir Integra! I heard you screaming and I came right away. What's the matter? My dear, are you hurt? Show me."

I clutch my breasts in agony, trying to face away from him. "I hurt. I hurt."

Soon, Walter can see where I'm clutching and he recoils. "Y-your _breasts_?"

I roll away in shame and start to cry uncontrollably. "I don't know what's wrong, but they _hurt_. I'm so ashamed. Why do my breasts hurt? Does it mean I'm _bad_?"

Walter keeps trying to take me up in his arms, but then he backs away for fearing he might injure me, but then he comes back. "No, no, Sir Integra, it doesn't mean you're bad. It probably has something to do with puberty, or the beginning on your menstrual cycle." He's scrambling for something reassuring and medical-sounding to say to soothe me, but he had no idea about a woman's development. He probably thinks ovaries are in your pituitary gland.

But Walter's a good, well meaning soul and he picks me up in his arms.

I clench my thighs together, hoping he doesn't notice I don't have any panties. Who the hell knows where they are—they could totally be on the floor right in front of my desk for all I know.

Walter carries me away to my bedroom and lays me down. "Please lay still Sir Integra, and I'll call your doctor."

"Don't bring him here," I cry. "I don't want to show anyone my breasts. I'm too embarrassed." I wipe a tear from my eye. "Just describe my symptoms and see what he suggests. I don't want everyone to know this happened. I don't want the maids or the soldiers snickering about my 'woman problems'."

"Don't worry about a thing Sir Integra," Walter assures me. "I'll keep this quiet. It will be our secret."

I squeeze his hand. "Thank you for protecting me, Walter."

He leaves quickly and I lay back on my bed and heave a sigh of frustrated relief. All that crying wasn't for show. My breasts hurt like a son of a bitch. I unbutton my blouse and peak inside and see my nipples are purple and black.

I rebutton my blouse and gingerly rub my breasts. "I want my panties back, too, you sorry son of a bitch!" I shout to the empty air.

I wait.

Then I see you reemerge from the walls, your head ducked down in shame. You walk towards the bed me silently.

I snatch them up. "Alucard, my nipples are bruised. What were you _thinking_?"

"Master, I…"

"I mean, _they're black and blue_." I take the wadded up panties and shove them under my pillow. "When I was screaming my head off; 'They hurt, they hurt, please take them off,' what the fuck did you think that _meant_?"

You don't answer.

"Did you shut off my laptop?" I demand. "You didn't just leave a browser full of sex sites sitting open on my desk, did you?"

"I shut it off, yes, Master."

"Good." I point angrily to the bathroom. "Go in there and bring me hand lotion right now."

You obey me promptly and return with a bottle of simple hand lotion. You try to hand it to me but I put up my hand, indicating I want you to hold onto it. I unbutton my blouse and reveal to you my swollen, bruised nipples. I watch you recoil in shock.

"My god master. I didn't realize…"

I put my blouse to the side and lay down on my bed. "I don't care. Pour the lotion between my breasts and let my body heat warm it up a little. Then massage the oil into my breasts_. Carefully_."

You blink.

"You fingered my _asshole_," I snarl. "With your _thumb_. Now you're going to massage my breasts, which is decidedly less disgusting and less invasive." I glare at you. "You _prick_."

I have just discovered something about you. When I say things to you in a really demanding voice and I swear a lot, you follow orders a little faster.

You pour a few droplets of oil between my breasts and leave it to warm up. You watch my face as I relax into the pillows of my bed. After a few quiet minutes, you pull your gloves off your hands and scoop the oil into your palms, rub it around a little, and then very gingerly cup my breasts. They are large enough to fill even your big hands.

I know you are being careful, but its not careful enough. I clench my teeth and clamp down on a scream that tries to escape my mouth. "Mphmm!"

"I'm sorry master," you croon, using feather light touches.

"Just be as careful as you can," I sigh.

I close my eyes and relax as you softly soothe my aching breasts with your hands. After a few minutes, it starts to feel good and I allow myself to smile to let you know you're doing a good job. "So, it was all an illusion?"

"Yes master."

"It was very convincing."

"I'm sorry master." I hear you cringing. "It was a violation. Even as I was doing it, I knew it was wrong, but once I started I couldn't stop myself and I…"

I don't give a shit about your guilty conscious. "So, when I was giving the clerk a hand-job, was that your cock I was feeling?"

You seem taken aback. "Yes master."

I'm excited. The first cock I ever felt was yours. "Did I make you cum? Like I made him cum?"

You seem to relax a little. "Yes master. You made me cum."

"Was it good?"

You sigh. "Yes. Yes, it was very good."

"I liked making you cum," I say eagerly. "I loved how you felt in my hands. You didn't have to lie to me. You didn't need to make up a story. I would have done it if you had asked."

"Th-thank you master."

"And that_ scenario_….." I'm breathless. "That was so _hot_. And it was so vivid!" I open my eyes and look at you lustily. "You have a filthy mouth. I love how you talk _dirty_. You're _fucking nasty_."

You're almost embarrassed. I think there's a hint of a red rising to your checks. I thinking you're _fucking blushing_. "I…," you clear your throat, "I have an active imagination."

I'm giddy. "You have _problems_. No one talks dirty like that who isn't completely fucked up. You were talking about rape and exhibition and BDSM and orgies and….holy shit, Alucard, that was _amazing. _I came so hard."

You look bewildered. "You aren't angry with me?"

"I'm angry because you nearly ripped my nipples off, but the fantasy? No, I'm not angry about that at all." Now, I'm the one who's starting to blush. "As a matter of fact…if you're not doing anything at midnight….I'll be laying here naked, spread, waiting to be 'serviced'."

You jaw almost falls out of your mouth. "What?"

"You're my freak fetish. I want to play with you again." I smile demurely. "Anywhere you want to go. Anything you want to do. I'll put my intimate, sexual needs entirely in your care. I trust you to make me feel good." I touch your face. "No back-seat fondling for me. I want the best. I want your nastiest, dirtiest fantasy."

"I feel strongly about not spoiling your virginity."

I smirk. "Why, which fate do you want for me? Do you want me to be your Draculina or…" I take one of your oiled hands from off my breast and place it on my flat, youthful belly. "Or do you want to bathe my womb with your seed and have me bear your offspring?"

I immediately regret saying it. I watch your face collapse with shame.

"I'm just teasing," I say.

Deep down, I guess we all have our secret fetishes we're too embarrassed to share with anyone, and you clearly shared one of yours with me in a moment of unrestrained passion. I remember reading you had two sons by two different wives, and neither of them lived to adult hood. Having children might be an unfulfilled, life-long ambition of yours—one I realize will remain unfulfilled as vampires can't bear live offspring. I think I've really embarrassed you.

Sensing an open wound, I try and make light of it. "Ok, I can tell that you're uncomfortable. When you grow up, we'll talk about it again."

You show me a grateful half-smile. "Did you really like my fantasy?"

"It was amazing."

"I have a lot more fantasies." You use your oiled hands to sensually rub my breasts. "Did you like how I fingered you? Did it feel good?"

I groan. "Yes. It felt very good."

"Did you even like…?"

"It was uncomfortable," I say quickly. "But it didn't hurt. It made me feel…slutty." I smile. "It could be a good feeling."

"I'll meet you at midnight then. I'll take you out of this house and we'll go somewhere nasty."

"I'll be sure to be one minute past," I say softly. "I want that spanking you promised."

--

The End of Integra's Fantasy….

Or is it?


	5. Alucard's Fantasy Part I

Alucard's Fantasy, Part I:

--

You have a lover.

You've showered. You've covered your throat with a delicate perfume, but I'm not fooled. I can smell his sweat_ under_ your skin. I don't know why I didn't suspect it sooner--your unexpected absences, the long weekends away from Hellsing, and your terse, suspicious attitude towards us. You don't tell anyone where you go or why.

You're _seeing_ someone. Someone, apparently, who you won't introduce us to. Someone who's secretly satisfying you.

For the first 24 hours, I'm churning with mixed emotions. Jealously, guilt, rage, shame.

Restlessly, I pace the sublevels, my skin crawling, my flesh falling off my body like maggots only to reform and rush back into me. I want to confront you and taste your blood and see if you're still a virgin of steel. You're mine. _Mine. My Countess, my Draculina, my master forever._

_After_ the first 24, I'm exhausted and I resign to this new fate. You are not my virgin of steel anymore, I suspect. Why did I expect you would save yourself for me? You are in love with someone, and that is the way of humans, and I shouldn't feel surprised or betrayed. You never pledged yourself to me or made yourself receptive to any of my advances. If anything, you have always kept yourself at a distance.

After the _second_ 24 hours, I decide I want to know more about your lover. For all I know, he may someday be the Lord of this house. His offspring may be my future masters. I long for you to reveal him so I may introduce myself and make a good impression--and I wish to impress upon _you,_ my master, that I will remain loyal. I want to find a place for myself in your future family. I want you to speak well of me to your children.

Another day passes, and I wish to eat his heart. Break open his rib cage and rip the muscle right out of his body and _eat_ it.

Another day, and I apologize to you for no reason.

Another day. And another day. And I watch you leave the house with an overnight bag. You come home the next morning. You're clothes look just as sharp as the day you left.

Another day.

--

You start leaving on a regular basis--every weekend--to "get away." I wait at the car port for you, and you seem surprised to see me there. I smile, the best I can muster, and I tell you to have a good weekend--and I make a point to remind you I'll be here waiting for you when you come home Monday. I'm as sincere as I can be. I want you to be happy.

Monday morning comes and I wait for you in the foyer. I hear the Rolls Royce pull into the drive and I greet you at the door. I don't ask if you enjoyed your weekend or what you did or where you went, but I offer to take your coat.

You seem bright. Pleasant. Well-rested. You've had an orgasm recently.

In the evenings, we are together, master and servant, and I do your bidding. I execute your orders with vigor and glee, in a hazy cloud of ghoul ash and dead blood. This is my place. I am happy in my place. I am determined to find satisfaction and purpose in my place, this place that you gave me, a place I should be grateful to have.

I return from the night's work and bow at your feet and call you 'master'.

As I grovel on the floor, I savor your praise, the sound of your voice. You don't realize it, but my mouth briefly caresses your boot, my tongue quickly laps the leather. This is most sexual satisfaction I will ever feel, I realize. I ache between my legs, and bowing conceals my excited, guilty erection.

--

There's a receipt on the ground at the carport.

I watched it fall from an unzipped pocket in your overnight bag as you climbed into the Rolls Royce, just before you drove away.

I'm staring at it.

_Walk away,_ I tell myself. _Don't torture yourself by reading it and guessing at what it means._

"Master?" Seras calls. "Come inside. You've been standing out there for an hour."

I twitch. "Yes." I stiffly turn around and go back into the house, leaving the neatly folded receipt on the drive.

Seras is smiling. Her face is always bright and gleaming, her impossible blue eyes a pitifully weak barrier into her soul. She is happy, of course, that you are absent because it means she has me to herself--to smother. Seras doesn't just wait for me in the door, she takes my hand. "Let's get something to drink," she says pleasantly, looking at me with eyes that say 'Fuck me.'

I look at my servant with sympathy. I used to be aggravated by her. But now I pity her. I pity myself. We are the same.

We walk down stairs to the industrial freezer--to where the medical blood is stored. Hundreds of packets neatly stacked. She tosses me one packet of medical blood and takes another for herself. We stand in the freezer and drink quietly; two vampires communing in the mutual pleasure of consuming blood. She closes her eyes and savors the fluids streaming down her throat, her face relaxed.

I'm not very interested in mine. I take conservative sips. Unlike Seras, I've know the pleasures of fresh, hot blood surging from the throat, and this cold swill does not compare. I envy Seras and her ability to find satisfaction with lesser things. It comes, I imagine, from being a peasant.

I look dejectedly down at the medical bag. Then I look back at Seras. She's pleasing to the eye—that's why I turned her, of course. As impulsive as it was, she's still as lovely now as she was then. I briefly imagine what it would be like to sleep next to her, to feel her cool naked body sprawling across mine, hearing her satisfied sighs as she comes down from orgasmic bliss.

I take another shallow sip from the medical blood bag.

As the sun creeps higher and higher in the sky, we bid each other a good day. Seras looks after me with longing as I go, but I return my coffin alone, again.

Once inside, I close my eyes and fantasize about licking your boot. This time, I am naked as I do it, and you laugh at me and call me inferior vampire scum, not worthy to worship you. You kick me in the face and I beg for your forgiveness as I ejaculate helplessly on the floor.

Then you beat me for messing in your office.

I cum in my clenched fist.

_--_

Monday morning comes and I wait patiently, as a dutiful servant should. Today, I'm prepared to ask the questions. I will be civil, but I will be frank. I will accept the answers, whatever they are. I have to accept the truth, whatever it is.

I wait for several hours. Its past 11 o'clock in the morning, and even Walter is checking his watch nervously, waiting for the guards at the gate to chime you in. "This is highly unusual. Sir Integra is always back at 8am, _sharp_."

I'm frozen at the window, watching the sun cross the sky, feeling its heat warm my clothes and face. Where are you, master? I would seek you out if I had any idea where you were. But you're so secretive. I have no idea where to look. Many of my powers are damped during the day--I'll have to wait until night fall and make a broad sweep of the city and try to find a trace of your thoughts. I hope you're_ in_ London.

But 1pm comes, and we're alerted there's a car at the gate--a Rolls Royce.

Seras and Walter rush downstairs in time to see you come through the front door. I wait at the top of the stairs.

Your hair is mussed, and your collar is crooked. You don't look as sharp as you usually do when you come home. "I'm sorry I'm late. I would have called, but I forgot to charge the cell."

I grit my teeth. You had a _quickie_ before you came home. You must have been dressed and ready to leave first thing in the morning, but your lover called you back for _more_.

You look up at me and see me looking down at you from the second floor landing. For once, I can't disguise my disgust. I'm not prepared to have a confrontation now, not in front of everyone, but if you say one word to me I'm going to _erupt_, so I turn sharply and leave you with the others. I march away, directionless, furious, shaking and mostly relieved that you're alive and ok, and humiliated that I wouldn't have been able to come to your rescue if you weren't.

--

Another day.

--

You beckon me.

I melt into the shadows of your office and form myself in the center of the room. I see you sitting expectantly at your desk, your face haloed by the blue glow of your notebook, and you nod at my appearance.

I bow with your acknowledgement. "Master."

"Walter and Seras tell me you're upset," you say, sitting up straight and regarding me with your full attention.

"Upset?" I taste the word and find it sour. "No, master. They're mistaken." I summon courage. "I'm a little disappointed you've never introduced me to your boyfriend."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

Too rehearsed. Too calm.

"You haven't been sneaking away every weekend to sleep with your lover?"

Your glasses glint as you shift in your chair. "What an insulting question. I 'sneak away' to _relax_. I know that sounds strange, but I work and live in the same house. Sometimes I just like to get away."

"You deny it?" I've come to accept that you have a lover. I am mature and rational, and as much as it displeases me, I can accept and live with the fact that I can't have everything I want in this life. But to hear to lie to me makes my blood boil. "You don't respect me enough to tell me the truth even when I pose a very direct, very honest question right to your face? I will be your dutiful servant no matter what. Why prolong this charade?"

You shake your head at me. "What you're suggesting is preposterous. I'm a virgin--you know that."

I was hoping you'd dangle that in front of my face. "Do you mind if I taste a little of your blood to see for _myself _that you're still a virgin?"

Rather than erupt in a string of profanity like I expected, you surprise me by rising from your seat and boldly approaching me, pulling off your right glove and offering me your bare hand, "Help yourself." Your expression is cold, impatient, and confident.

I stare at that bare hand. If I drink a few gulps, it would be enough to read all your thoughts and memories and I'll learn exactly what I want to know. That would hurt you, of course. However, just the barest taste will tell me if you're a virgin--that virgin taste is unmistakable.

I close the distance between us and take your hand in mind and lift it to my lips. I single out your index finger and drag the pad against my fang, until a tiny droplet of blood wells up and I suck it into my mouth.

My eyes widen in shock. You're a virgin.

I don't need to say anything. My face says it all. You jerk your hand away from me indignantly and return to your desk, your movements stiff, your steps heavy. "That's all, vampire. You're dismissed."

I am humiliated. "Master."

You don't respond. You sit back down at your desk and resume typing, as if I am not here.

"I've insulted your integrity and brought your honor into question…"

"I said you could go." You don't look at me as you call after me: "But don't go far. I might _fuck_ whoever comes into the room if you're lax in guarding my chastity."

--

I don't know how I could have gotten it so wrong.

It's one o'clock in the afternoon and I'm sitting upright in my coffin, staring at nothing. This has become my new definition for "sleeping."

I had been so certain. What had made me so certain? There had never been any physical evidence of an affair, other than a vague scent. A scent that sparked my imagination and run away with my rational mind. I had been consumed by jealousy to the point it didn't matter what the evidence pointed to—I convinced myself of my own worst fears. In fact, I actively avoided any evidence. There had been a receipt on the ground, and I walked away from it. It was as if I _wanted_ to you to be having an affair. I had _wanted_ to be rejected. I had _wanted_ deprivation. I had _wanted_ grief and uncertainty.

Then I confronted you, subjecting myself to further humiliation and pain.

What kind of a sick man wants to be humiliated and in pain?

I'm still not sure what to make of your secret escapades away from Hellsing, away from your duties, away from me. Maybe you're being truthful when you say you just want to relax and get away from us mad men, but I still can't shake the feeling that you're concealing something deviant.

--

I follow you in the form of a cloud of crows, determined to discover the truth.

The first suspicious thing you do is take the Rolls Royce to a car rental agency and switch to a plain, mid-sized sedan. You pay in cash. You start to drive.

You drive north, into the country side. You pass through several small towns, and finally stop in a non-descript village and rent an isolated cottage on a lake.

There's another car parked out front. Another plain, mid-sized sedan. It also has rental tags.

There's no one in the car--whoever it is must be inside.. You walk confidently into the cottage and shut the door behind you and close all the curtains tightly so I can't see inside.

I am beside myself. You _are_ meeting someone.

I descend from the sky and cautiously sink through the roof and settle in the dark attic crawl space and wait and listen.

I can hear your voice, but no one else's.

I fall invisibly to the first floor, nothing more than a shadow. The cottage is dark. All the lights are off. I cautiously follow the sound of your voice, stealing through the kitchenette and living room down a black hallway to where the sound of your voice is coming from--under the bedroom door.

"Next time, be more cautious about where you park. Shall we begin?"

I hear no response. I creep closer to the door and press myself against the door. I slither down to the crack in the door.

I see two pairs of legs under the door. Your leather loafers…and a man's bare feet.

I recoil.

I've caught you. But I feel no vindication. You lied to me.

I sit up, feeling stupid. I have done myself no favors. Now I know the truth and I am in no better position than I was a few hours ago. I am as lonely and rejected as I was then, except now I also have a mental image of your lover's feet glimpsed from under the door. Now what am I supposed to do? Bang on the door and demand you come home? Clearly I must return to Hellsing and pretend I know nothing and continue to be your dutiful servant, continue to bow at your feet and call you 'Master.' Nothing I have learned today changes that. You could have a thousand lovers, I realize, and it wouldn't change how I feel. It wouldn't make me the least bit less loyal or less eager to do your bidding.

I'm actually filled with a sense of relief. Nothing matters.

That man doesn't matter.

My guilt and inferiority don't matter.

I will always remain your servant, no matter what.

I close my eyes and sigh in relief.

I will go home and forget all of this. I will wait for you by the door every Monday and make happy, polite noises when you come home. I will take your coat and hang it up. And in the evening, I will bow at your feet and call you 'master.' And I will be happy. This is all the happiness I deserve. I am an inferior vampire who would otherwise be exterminated with the other undead filth, yet I have been blessed with this life you have provided me, where I have adequate blood to drink and my own coffin to sleep in. I want for nothing, and I do God's work, your work.

I am so deliriously happy, I am crying.

I am praying to God. For the first time in over five hundred years. But I am not begging for help. I am praising Him.

_Thank you, God. Thank you, God._

But there's another voice inside my head.

_Mine. My Countess, my Draculina, my master forever._

"No!" I tell myself. "You are inferior, unworthy, repulsive undead filth! You should _die_. You only live and breathe because Sir Hellsing allows it. You are nothing more than an indulgence, a convenience for her—and she could discard you at _any_ moment, for _any_ reason. _She doesn't belong to you_. You have no say in what she does or who she's with! Maggot! Bastard!" My hands fly up to my own face. I dig my fingers into my flesh, my eye sockets, and rip as hard as I can. I peel my face off and throw it onto the floor.

I start disremembering myself in a fevered rage, tearing my clothes and flesh, breaking my bones, chewing my hands off. I am my own enemy. My impure thoughts and impulses are an enemy of Hellsing. It is my duty to kill this other me.

Suddenly, the door to the bedroom flies open and you stand there.

My struggling and screaming has alerted you to my presence.

You have stripped all your clothes off and you are wrapped in a sheer and silken white chemise with a loose little tie in front. I can see the brown areolas of your soft breasts against the translucent fabric. The chemise ends just below your crotch. I have never seen your legs displayed so beautifully. I stare helplessly. You are a goddess.

"Master…" I groan in glee.

"Alucard?" you say, stunned.

I am nothing more than a shredded torso and a pile of mauled limbs in a pool of blood.

I see behind you. There is your mysterious lover, laying face up on the bed, naked. His arms and legs are spread wide and his wrists and ankles are restrained by several leather cuffs holding him fast to the posts. He has a thick, full and eager erection. He is wearing a black domino mask over his head that covers his eyes and mouth, both gagging and blind folding him. He doesn't see me, but he starts to writhe uncomfortably when you do not return to him. He makes a deep grunting, questioning sound. I've interrupted your BDSM fantasy. No wonder you're still a virgin. You probably get off on_ whipping_ each other.

"Alucard?!" you cry, both angry and horrified. "W-what…? What are you doing here? What have you done to yourself?"

"Master," I say again happily, my left arm twitching. "Welcome home. May I take your coat?"

--

To be continued.


	6. Alucard's Fanrasty Part II

Alucard's Fantasy, Part II

--

I see your naked, muscular lover writhe on the bed and try to sit up. He must realize he's not alone with you anymore. But your restraints are very effective and he can only struggle desperately. Oddly enough, I notice his erection doesn't wilt at all.

You turn to your startled companion. "No, no, don't be afraid," you soothe in a loving voice, a voice that makes me melt. "Everything's going to be ok. Just lie still."

Like an obediently trained slave, he quiets down immediately and lies still. I watch him with envy. I wish I was in his place. If I were tied up next to him, it would be enough for me. Whip me, too, master.

You close the bedroom door and approach the pile that is my body. "Alucard, what's the meaning of this invasion! Explain yourself!"

I twist and turn in glee, my quivering mass melting into a black ooze and slithering to you like the slime that I am. "Master, let me take your coat. I hope you had a restful weekend." I pool at your feet. I ramble helplessly, my mind dissolved, my will destroyed.  
--

I have no memory of the next few hours.

I awake in the Rolls Royce, driving across the rolling country side. I blink slowly in the glaring sun light, but I become aware of myself and my surroundings. I look down at my body and see that I am reformed and solid.

There is a beautiful taste in my mouth. I looked over at you as you drive, and I see the bandage wrapped tightly around your palm. You gave me your blood to sedate and heal me.

You notice that I have regained consciousness. You look at me once. You have no expression in your face. Our eyes meet for only a few seconds before you turn your attention back to the road. You don't speak to me. We drive in silence.

After a half hour, you say: "_He_ helped me carry you to the car."

I hadn't been wondering about it. My brow furrows as I imagine that faceless stranger holding me and carrying me, a stranger who had every reason to hate me. "He wasn't angry?"

"No."

"Are you angry?"

You don't answer. So, yes. I'm a spy. A pervert. You should find all these qualities unacceptable and disgusting…in a stranger. But from me? From your servant? It is the deepest violation imaginable.

I ask, "Will he be my new master soon?"

You look at me, stunned; "What?"

"Will you marry him? Will I serve his children?"

You look as if the thought never occurred to you. "No. No, we're not…._no_." You look back at the road. You eye me again. "_No_, Alucard."

I don't know why I say it. I don't know where it comes from, what damaged and sick recess of my brain these infantile words have been germinating, but I blurt it out: "You should."

"With _him_? No." You chuckle as you imagine it. The tension eases a little as I see that tiny ghost of a smile touch your lips. I sit silently, looking at your face. Even as you dismiss it, I can see your face light up as you think of your lover.

"You're in love," I say regretfully, surrendering. It is good that you, my master, has found someone. "It is the way of humans."

"We're….its not the same thing. At most, we're _compatible_," You say as you shake your head sadly._  
"_ He has a very sensitive job, just like I do. We have similar needs and we meet when we can. If anyone knew we were in a relationship, it would be a disastrous nightmare for him, for me, for Hellsing. We have no delusions that we can make it 'work'. I promised to protect his identity. In return, he protects mine. That's all."

I lick my lips, tasting your blood. "You're a virgin still."

You nod. "I am."

"Why?"

"I said we shared similar needs," you say. "I want to maintain my virginity, whatever may be left of it. And he has his own reasons for remaining celibate—if you can call masochism celibacy." You look at me again. "Are you going to be ok?"

"I am loyal, Sir Hellsing," I reply. "I will guard your secret."

"That's not what I asked."

I shrug slightly. "Is it even relevant?"

"Aren't you jealous?"

I remember when you defended me against the Round Table conference when you were thirteen. They said I couldn't be trusted, that _you_ couldn't be trusted, and that I needed to be surrendered into the custody of the British government. I was standing right beside you, and those foolish old men had the nerve to call for my detention in my presence. I was ready to kill them all. You touched my hand and kept me still. I could feel the blood surging under your skin, even with our gloves between us. "You'll have to lock me up, too," you'd said passionately. "I am his master. I am responsible for him. I will not allow you to separate us." I don't know why I think of this. I think I've loved you since the moment you shoved a gun in my face. But I think it was this moment when I believed you loved me back, when I started to imagine you were my beloved, that you would save yourself for me and nothing more than circumstances and polite appearances kept us apart.

"I'm sick," I tell you, not sure if you can understand. "But I'll get better." I'm devoted to it. "You'll see soon that I am loyal, and that my fidelity was paid for a century ago. I need nothing further from you or your family to seal my allegiance." I don't think what I said makes any sense in reference to what you had asked me. I try to clarify: "What I mean to say is; I don't need you to love me back. Everything will be as it was. I will not interfere again."

You look at me, disbelieving. You put on your turn signal and you pull the car over.

"What?" I ask.

Wordlessly, you press your hand against my stomach. It slides down.

It sinks between my legs, finding the softness of my relaxed penis.

I'm frozen.

I stare at your hand.

You don't squeeze or stroke. You hand is perfectly still.

My cock swells and fills your grip immediately. It's involuntary. I tremble, wanting both to take your invading hand away and thrust into it. I don't know what you expect me to do. I'm confused. "Master?"

You say nothing. You hold perfectly still.

I get harder and harder. You don't answer me. Your hand feels so good. This can't be happening. This must be a dream. I'm the hardest I've ever been. I can't help it. I can't stay still. "Integra?" I start gently fucking your hand, helpless to stop myself. Once I feel my cock sliding sensually against your palm, I completely lose control, fucking violently, wildly, my feet planted firmly on the floor, my hands gripping the seat, my ass rising up to thrust higher and higher and faster and faster.

You say nothing. You hold perfectly still.

I fuck and fuck and fuck, each thrust punctuated by a question: "_Master?"_

I don't understand. Why would you touch me? Why would you subject yourself to a parasite like me? You are Integra Hellsing, the esteemed and courageous leader of the Hellsing organization, admired for her leadership and bravery, adored for her beauty and purity. Integra Hellsing: giving a vampire a hand job in a parked car.

My question soon becomes an exclamation: "Master!" Then, a plea: _"Master!"_ I feel myself about to cum. I don't want it to happen. It's wrong. You are Integra Hellsing. I am _soiling_ you. "No!"

"No?" you say, answering me at last, calmly. "If you don't like it, stop. You're the one who is thrusting. I am only holding my hand still. If you don't want to be stimulated, just still your hips and calm down. If you stop yourself, I'll take my hand away."

But I can't stop and you know it. I plead with my eyes, but you've already set the rules. I have to stop myself, and I can't. My head rolls back and I give up to it, begging, moaning. I stop trying to hold off my orgasm. I ejaculate.

My hips slow down and still. I slump heavily in the car seat, my legs trembling. I feel my cum pooling in my clothing. My limbs are limp noodles. I can't move.

Now, you take your hand away.

You start the car and begin driving. You say nothing.

I am still. My stomach is churning. I am disgusting filth. Cum is streaming down my thighs.

"_Nothing_ can be as it was," you say at last. "You'll never forget what you saw. Despite what you say, I think your loyalty has always been conditional."

As my strength returns, I shut my thighs.

--

Another day.

--

The week crawls by. I wait every night for you to summon me, but you don't.

I am obsessed with the memory of your lover spread eagle and tied to the bed, and his eerie black mask, gagging him, blinding him, leaving him vulnerable and at your mercy. Do you switch places? Do you lay like that for him? If you were tied up like that, naked and spread, and you heard the bedroom door open and realized there was a third person in the room, a stranger, would you thrash in fear? Or would you keep yourself spread, obedient, and submit, as he did?

As my mind, and my body, crawls up the walls, my thoughts are scattered and non sequential.

I think of my first wife, committing suicide by throwing herself into the Arges River as the Turkish hoards descended upon our land. I think of how terrified she must have felt as she fell towards the black, churning waters. What a lonely and gruesome way to die. The blame lies entirely with me. I failed to protect her. I was not worthy to be her husband, or to be the voivode of Wallachia. I was incapable of wise judgment. Any responsibility left in my care was squandered.

I think of Abraham. An old man when we met, using only his wits, defeated me even as I had limitless advantages. The fact that I was bested by this weak mortal proved I had no business having any power, that my dreams of supremacy and control were just fantasies, that for all the killing and the cruelty and hate and revenge, I would never accomplish any feat that would eclipse the shame of being sodomized as a youth. Being sodomized, and being forced to cum.

"Yes, you like that," the Sultan had whispered soothingly in my ear as I sobbed, holding myself steady on shaking hands and knees while he took me from behind for maybe the tenth time. He'd pumped my youthful prick in his large, clenched fist, keeping it hard, keeping it stimulated, milking droplets of semen onto his finger tips and smearing them on my lips, ordering me to lick it up and telling me my arousal was proof I was born to be a slave.

I could not concentrate enough to resist, his strong cock straining to rape my tiny asshole. I sobbed and sobbed and obeyed, sucking his fingers, swallowing my own fluids. Anything to make that rape end. Except, it never seemed to end. He would use me, and then hand me off to his son. The days bled and blurred together, a never ending cycle of pain, torture, coercion and bargaining. I knew what I was expected to do in exchange for food and warm clothing, and I was expected to be enthusiastic in my duties. I learned to suck cock as skillfully as any courtesan whore.

I sink to the floor in the empty sub levels, writing on the ground.

Something in my mind is broken. I can't think straight. I am barely aware of my surroundings. I want my master, but I am afraid to approach you right now. For centuries, I have tried to suppress these horrible memories, but they're welling to the surface, mixing with the present reality, robbing me of strength.

In my mind, I can see the Sultan, standing imposingly over my naked form, his frightening erection at full strength, his disgusting precum streaming down his shaft. "Pleasure me," he commands, "and I will spare your ass tonight."

Behind him is you, my master. You watch me with disapproval, shaking your head.

"Not in front of her," I sob. I grovel. "Please. Make her leave."

"But look how hard it makes you," the Sultan points at me. I realize I am naked, and I am erect against my own will. "Why do you lie to yourself and others, when you know this is all you are good for? Why do you resist your true nature, when slavery and submission beckons you back into the safety you long for? Do not resist us. Obey the orders we have provided you with, and you will be plagued by uncertainty and doubt no more."

I cannot resist any longer. I sink his cock into my mouth and suck wantonly, appreciatively. I have no will of my own. I was born to be used.

I look past the Sultan's hip and I find your eyes with mine.

I see you nod in approval.

--

I wake from my dream, laying on the cold stone floor, shaking.

--

Late Thursday night, I hear the silver chime of your voice beckoning.

I race to you, streaming up the stairs and under the cracks of doors in a black mass of tension and desperation. I can barely reform my body when I find you in your office. I have starved myself. I don't deserve the sense of well being drinking blood provides.

You're sitting at your desk, regal, calm, waiting. You're on the phone. You have it cradled in your shoulder, but you wave me closer.

I wait for no instructions. I don't wait for your phone conversation to end. I frantically sink to my knees before you and take one foot in hand and openly, hungrily lick the leather of your boot, not making any effort to hide this time, not trying to hide my erection, not trying to hide anything. I lick and lick and lick, like a dog. I even whimper. I don't care if you get angry and punish me. In fact, I hope you do.

But you're not angry. You watch me lick, relaxing your ankle so there's more leather for me to worship. "He just walked in," you relay in a bemused voice over the phone. "He's on his hands and knees and he's displaying his loyalty and submission by kissing my feet. I think he feels guilty for spying on us." I th

You must be on the phone with your lover.

I recoil a little, my lust tempered. But I keep looking at the soft Italian leather of your boots and I close my eyes and nuzzle the arch of your foot. I don't care about _him_. In moments, my tongue is lapping the soft material again. I am your servant. I long to prostrate before you.

You reached down and hook your fingers into my collar and pull me up from your shoes. You pull until my chest is resting against your knees and you guide my head to rest in your lap. I allow myself to be moved with no resistance. I lay my check against your warm thighs. I feel you pet my hair absently. I shudder in ecstasy, my erection throbbing. "No, he's always been submissive and loyal to varying degrees," you continue to say. "Obedience is where he struggles. Even at his most dutiful, he can't seem to follow orders or wait for instructions. He rushes in and does whatever he wants."

_Yes, yes_, I think. _I_ _am loyal, but I struggle to please you. I knew you would understand, master. You are limitlessly patient and perceptive._

I hear unintelligible garbling answer through the phone.

"He has his head in my lap now," you reply. "No, he's not being aggressive, I put him there. I think he wants to be obedient, he just doesn't know how." More garbling. "Yes, the situation can't be ignored. I blame myself for allowing this to get out of hand—I should have brought Alucard into the fold months ago. But I think he won't have any problem adjusting, he just needs a firm hand and some patience as he learns. I expect_ you_ will be extra obedient and make an example of yourself. My vampire will need someone to look up to." You stroke my hair and I look up at you with longing. "How does that sound, vampire? Would you like to come away with me this weekend and have my little pet boy display the fundamentals of submission and obedience so that you can study it yourself? When we're done, you can demonstrate what you've learned."

My eyes grow wide. My mouth is so dry, I cannot respond verbally, but I feel a burning surge between my legs. My hips surge forward, my erection finding the firmness of your foot, and I start grinding.

--

To be continued…


End file.
